


where your heart is set in stone

by thesecretdetectivecollection



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-27 11:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16218023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretdetectivecollection/pseuds/thesecretdetectivecollection
Summary: "We should probably get married before you go."Their first year of marriage is not an easy one, by any stretch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kkslover9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkslover9/gifts).



Stevie’s the one who proposes first. A simple golden ring on Jamie’s finger on the night of their last match together, with the words _we all dream_ engraved on the inside, because he could spend the rest of his life trying to tell Jamie what he means to him, but he’d never be able to get it right.

Jamie doesn’t wear the ring on his finger at first. For those first two years, he wears it on a chain around his neck, usually tucked under his shirt. People ask about it now and then, production assistants on the set or fans who want pictures, just a casual question that Jamie becomes adept at brushing off.

Making it official doesn’t seem urgent, with Stevie still at Liverpool, and Jamie living there too, most of the time. They’re together most nights, they get to have lazy nights on the sofa, whole days in bed, affectionate even when one of them starts snoring and gets a sharp little nudge until he stops. They still have little domestics, arguments over what film to watch, or who should do the dishes, or what to order for dinner. But they don’t go to bed angry, and they always kiss goodnight.

 _End the day with love_ , Jamie’s mother had told him, _you should always try to end the day with love. Anger festers. If you don’t fix it, it grows and changes and it’ll hurt both of you._

Jamie’d taken the words to heart, and once they’d moved in together, he’d told Stevie he wanted to make it a rule, and Stevie, smiling with young love in his eyes, agreed.

“Not that we ever fight, J. We’re not like that.” Of course, time proves him wrong, but Jamie’s careful to manage himself when he’s angry, and he never says anything that crosses the line. He tends to leave instead, taking a deep breath and heading to the bathroom for a long shower, or to the park for a run that makes him ache down to his bones, and even deeper than that, whatever it is that’s deeper than bone.

So no, they don’t feel the need to make it quite official.

And then Stevie announces he’s going to L.A.

Jamie finds out the morning he announces it to the public, in a breakfast conversation that leads to tea growing cold and the air between them even colder.

“Didn’t you think you should discuss this with me?” Jamie snaps, glaring at the photocopied contract in his hands, already inked with Stevie’s signature.

“You always say that my career is my choice—even when I was considering going to Spain, you always said my career was my choice and you wouldn’t interfere. Even when I asked you for advice, you wouldn’t give me any. Is this time any different?”

“A flight to Madrid takes a few hours. Going to Los Angeles takes more than ten,” Jamie says icily, “I’m surprised you didn’t choose China, it’s probably a bit further, depending on what city you go to. Or Australia, I’m sure they’d be glad to have Steven Gerrard come play in the A League.”

“I’m not doing this because I want to leave you—that’s the worst part of this whole damn thing. I’m just—I’m not ready to call it a career yet, James! I want more—I want a title, I want more trophies, I want to practice and play and score goals and make challenges and all those things that made football our lives for so many years! You let it go, J. You let it go. I’m not ready to let it go yet. I don’t care about going out at the top of my game like you did, I don’t care if I decline—I just want to play football.”

Jamie purses his lips. “I need to go for a run,” he says abruptly, “I won’t have time later, and until I work through this, I’ll be useless at MNF. I’ll just drive Gary up the wall until we fight and then I’ll be pissed when I get home again… I just need to get through this first.”

Stevie nods, and doesn’t try to make him stay. Jamie processes things best on his own.

Jamie goes running almost every day for a month after that, and on the days he doesn’t run, he heads to the boxing gym and goes at a heavy bag for a few hours until his arms are jelly and his mind is fluid, not thinking at all about the fact that his partner is leaving him for a job halfway across the world.

He processes it slowly, and after a couple of weeks, he orders a ring online, and it arrives a week later.

“We should get married before you go,” he says idly to Stevie one day, voice carefully casual.

“What? We’ve never talked about it—“

“You got me that ring, Steve. And I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I got you this, if you want it.” Jamie pulls the ring out of his pocket and offers it to him.

Stevie just gapes at him in silence for a few minutes. “I—I do want it,” he says after Jamie remarks that he’ll catch flies if he keeps on like that.

Jamie slides the ring onto Stevie’s finger and smiles, kissing him. “It looks good on you,” he says quietly, “we’ll schedule the date for the offseason, before we get you moved out there. Or we could get married there, if you like, love, that might be a little easier.”

Stevie shakes his head. “Home. I want to marry you here, at home. We’ll go down to the courthouse, okay?”

Jamie smiles.

“This isn’t a last-ditch attempt to make me stay, is it?”

The smile drops like a rock, and Jamie frowns, shaking his head. “It’s not to make you stay,” he says softly, standing up.

“It’s so you know you’re taking part of me with you.”

He walks away, just over to the kitchen, but for a moment, Stevie feels like the loneliest man alive.

If it had been an attempt to make him stay, it would’ve worked.  
\---

  
They make a few calls and manage to get the courthouse opened a few minutes early. Jamie’s two brothers are their witnesses, and the justice of the peace signs an NDA afterwards, so the news can’t leak out to the press.

They go away for a few days, to LA, and Jamie helps him get settled. They pick out a house, talk cheerfully about how good the weather is, and how nice it is to be anonymous for once.

They have a pool behind their house, and they spend ages swimming. The beach isn’t far away, either, but at home, they can kiss, and flirt and dunk each other like children and splash and Stevie doesn’t like the feeling of the sand on his toes anyway.

Jamie stocks the fridge with lots of salmon and chicken breast and all the vegetables Stevie likes and some of the ones he hates but should eat anyway. He puts away Stevie’s favorite tea bags and the easy coffee pods he sticks in the Keurig machine. He doesn’t tell Stevie this, but he brings a packet of his favorite biscuits, hidden away in his suitcase, and hides them in one of the cabinets, for when he needs them.

Too soon, of course, they have to say goodbye and Jamie gets on a plane and leaves his newlywed husband and goes back home.

It doesn’t feel like home anymore.

But it does. It’s the same streets, the same faces, the kids in the street asking for autographs until his fingers are cramping and he’s late for wherever he’s supposed to be.

Liverpool is still Liverpool, after all.

Maybe Jamie doesn’t feel like Jamie anymore.

That’s it. That’s the problem. It’s not his beautiful, faithful city. It’s _him_.

He keeps thinking he sees Stevie, when he’s in some dimly lit bar, sipping at a glass of scotch alone or having drinks with the lads. There’s always someone, a bloke who has the same broad shoulders in the corner of his eye. Each time, his heart races, and he’s stupid to hope, but he still imagines that maybe Stevie came back, just for a visit, just to surprise him—he might not be able to stop himself from kissing him if it is Stevie, he thinks numbly, eyes drinking in the man’s form until he realizes.

It’s never him, of course. The man turns, and his hips are too narrow or his nose too round or his hair doesn’t quite fall the right way or his eyes are the wrong color and each time it’s like getting punched in the gut.

That first year is hard. Achingly hard. They fight, sometimes. It doesn’t happen as often as it had when they were living together, but the arguments aren’t soft and playful anymore, they’re harsh, and angry, and they don’t end with a kiss and holding each other in bed. Sometimes Jamie wonders if they’ll get divorced. Sometimes he sees other men and _wants_ them, in a physical carnal way that he wouldn’t if he’d had his husband at home with him.

Sometimes they don’t fight, though. That’s almost worse, Jamie thinks. When they don’t fight, there’s just distance. He feels hollow. At least when he’s fighting, he cares. At least when he’s fighting, it’s because he loves his husband and doesn’t want to lose him. Sometimes he gets annoyed at something, but he’s too tired to want to have an argument about it, and that’s when he can’t help but feel like they won’t make it. All the positive thoughts in his head, and all the beer in his fridge don’t get rid of the sick feeling in his stomach when that happens, and it feels like destiny, to lose this, too, like he’s lost so many things.

Jamie makes a point of avoiding romantic movies and statistics about long-distance relationships.

That’s not us, he says to himself, the words playing on a loop, that isn’t us, we’re going to make it.

They’re not jealous by nature, but it gets to them, the distance, and being surrounded by other gorgeous men doesn’t help either of them go to sleep at night.

In the beginning, he dreams of Stevie a lot. All the time, almost every single night. They talk every day, so he’s still present in Jamie’s life, even though he isn’t physically there next to him. But their lives and the time difference catch up to them, and the calls go from every day to every other day to once a week.

Sometimes he dreams he’s having sex with Stevie, and then all of a sudden, it isn’t Stevie anymore, and Stevie walks in on him and Not-Stevie, and he’s so confused because he could have sworn he was with his husband a second ago. He wakes up feeling panicky, heart racing and absolutely convinced that Stevie’s going to leave him. It’s late enough by then that even Stevie’s probably asleep, all the way in LA, so he can’t call and talk to him, just to calm himself down. So instead, he tosses and turns for an hour or two and then gives up and goes for an early morning run.

Sometimes he dreams that Stevie’s having sex with someone else. Those are the worst dreams, where Stevie’s happy living in Los Angeles and making love to someone young and fit and beautiful and it makes Jamie want to throw up. His brain doesn’t even do him the mercy of forgetting those dreams. Instead he lives his life with them playing over and over in his head, wondering if Stevie is finding his real soulmate across the ocean.

It stops being a joy, to speak to his husband, and starts being a bit of a chore. Nothing interesting happens in his life anyway, so when they talk, he doesn’t quite know what to say, and ends up just sitting and listening to Stevie’s stories about training and his new teammates and traveling to different cities in America.

Maybe the worst part of it all is that Stevie looks perfectly fine. Happy, almost. He’s cheerful as he talks to Jamie about his teammates’ shenanigans.

There’s no pressure in LA, he says often. It’s so nice to get to walk down the street without signing any autographs.

Jamie should be happy. That’s how it should work. He should be happy because Stevie’s happy. But instead it just makes him more miserable to know that Stevie’s alright while he’s aimlessly going to work and drinking more beer more often and putting on a bit of a paunch on his belly because he doesn’t care about being sexy as much as he used to.

Stevie comes back in October. He comes back tanner with his hair a little more carefully coiffed than before. He’s drop-dead gorgeous. He still has a six-pack and the lines in his face deepen attractively when he smiles, and he still has those same beautiful brown eyes that Jamie had fallen in love with years ago.

Jamie’s happy to see him, certainly, but part of him regrets the beers and the late nights and the forgetting to shave for days at a time. Stevie looks beautiful, and here he is, looking old and haggard, body softer and weaker than when Stevie had left.

Stevie’s still a professional footballer, still sexy and perfect, and here’s Jamie, his washed-up old husband who’d already let himself go. He feels like an anchor, dragging down the one person he wants more than anything to lift up.

“You look good,” Stevie says to him when they get back into the car, “did you miss me?”

He’s teasing, but Jamie thinks it’s a little bit cruel, to ask him that when his whole life had been set off course. Still, he smiles. “Might’ve done. Just a little bit. When it started to get cold and I didn’t have anyone in my bed to keep me warm.”

Stevie smiles back. “Good, because I missed you too. So much. You don’t know how much I missed you, love. If I hadn’t put a ring on your finger, I might have worried you’d find someone else.”

That eases the ache. Stevie hadn’t just been off having fun. He’d been missing Jamie too, wondering if he’d found someone else to hold. It makes Jamie feel a little less pathetic about how much he’d missed his lad, and the knot in his chest loosens a little bit.

That first night, Jamie just wraps Stevie in his arms as they lay in bed and enjoys getting to sleep next to his husband, for once.

After a couple days, though, they fall back into old habits, kissing on the sofa leading to a trip to bed…

And suddenly Jamie doesn’t want Stevie to see him shirtless. It’s the first time that’s ever happened to him. He’d always been so proud of his physique, and Stevie had always loved seeing him naked—they still have sex, but Jamie clicks the light off first, mumbling some excuse about how it’s hotter when he can’t see.

It’s not the way they usually are in bed, but Stevie goes with it, because it’s been months since he’s been touched by anything other than his own hand. So if the darkness was the price for making love to his husband, it was worth it a hundred times over. His husband! It had all seemed a bit of a dream while he’d been in LA, but now that he was back, he could hold Jamie’s hand and feel the warm metal of his wedding ring, and he felt really, truly married.

Jamie throws himself back into the gym, hoping that he can lose the little softness around his midsection before Stevie goes back. It’s not that he thinks Stevie will stop loving him just because he’s put on a few pounds, and it is only a few, most of his clothes still fit him just fine. The tight jeans are perhaps a bit tighter than before around his waist and a bit looser around his ass and thighs, but other than that, everything else fits.

Then again, it’s not really about his weight. It’s not about wanting a six pack again, like he had when he was playing. Deep down, Jamie thinks he’s just a little ashamed he’d stopped taking care of himself. Not just the exercise or the diet, but he’d been drinking maybe a little more than he should and sleeping a lot less than he should.

He hadn’t even realized it until Stevie came back and suddenly he was eating three square meals a day with lots of lean protein and watching telly with his head in Stevie’s lap and he hadn’t even thought about alcohol in three days. He sleeps a lot more—Stevie’s jetlagged, and even when he adjusts back, he goes to bed early. Earlier than Jamie did when he was gone, at any rate, the old insomnia making its way back into his life.

They don’t fight when Stevie’s at home. Well, they do, but it’s little things like who’ll call to order takeout or who’ll do the dishes, and Jamie’s always the first one to crack a smile, and Stevie laughs every single time and pulls him into a kiss, and then it’s over. They get to go to bed together, finally, and they’d never give that up just to continue a petty argument.

They keep having sex, but after the third time, Jamie suggests they leave the light on. He still has a little bit of a belly, but he isn’t as insecure about it. He’s working out again, eating better, and it’ll go. But for now, he’s nearly forty years of age and a bit of a belly is no reason to stop making love to his husband when they’ll be separated again soon enough.

The days fly by, and Jamie wants to hold onto them, beg them to slow down, please, so he can have more time.

But Time, cruel bastard that he is, doesn’t listen to him, and keeps going just as fast as he wants to. Stevie takes to training with the Liverpool first team, because it’s meant to be preseason, but the Galaxy allows him to stay for Christmas. So he gets his training in at home, and he comes home sweaty and tired and beaming, from ear to ear, pulling Jamie in for a kiss despite his playful rejection.

“You’re sweaty! Go take a shower before you kiss me!”

Jamie sleeps better with Stevie by his side, and not just because a nice orgasm helps him nod off. He just feels different. Warmer. Safer, almost. Before there had been the feeling of missing him, always throbbing inside him like a second heartbeat, from the moment he woke up to the moment he fell asleep. That goes away when Stevie gets back.

Jamie’s not looking forward to that feeling returning after Stevie goes back to LA.

Christmas comes, and they exchange presents. They always do a joke gift and a real one, and Jamie laughs when he sees deodorant in one box, and melts when he sees his real present. He hears it before he sees it, really. But when he opens the box, there’s a cat sitting in there, eyeing them warily for a moment before jumping out of the box and settling on the sofa.

“His name is Shanks,” Stevie says with a little smile, looking at the placid gray cat, “he’s a couple of years old, an adult, but he’s good with people. Thought it might help to have some company around the house, so it’s not as lonely when I’m not around. And when you’re traveling for Sky, you can set out some food, he’s already litter trained, no need to worry about taking him out for a walk—“

“He’s gorgeous,” Jamie says with a smile, sitting on the sofa and offering the cat his hand to smell. Apparently, his scent passes muster, and he’s permitted to pet Shanks’ head for a few moments.

He’s not allowed to stop petting Shanks, though, and when he does, the cat meows at him and squeezes under his arm to try to push for more affection. Jamie laughs and gives him what he wants, pleased when he hears the quiet rumble of his new friend’s purring.

“Hey Shanks,” he murmurs, “you’re a beauty, you are. You gonna keep me company when Stevie leaves to go back to America?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d like having a cat,” Stevie admits, “but they’re smaller and quieter than dogs, so I thought maybe it would be okay. I just really didn’t want you to be at home alone all the time. I worry about you when you’re on your own.”

“So you got him so he can look after me?” Jamie teases, though his voice is light and he’s still looking at Shanks’ gray fur. He startles a little bit when Shanks climbs into his lap, but settles.

“Jesus, he’s got claws, scares the hell out of you when he gets up close to your dick,” Jamie mutters, though he’s still obediently petting his new friend.

“See? I told you he was easy to train.”

“I haven’t trained him,” Jamie says, confused.

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Stevie says, grinning at his own joke. Jamie rolls his eyes, but lets him get away with it.

Shanks gets comfortable in his new home pretty quickly, and learns that begging for food works on Jamie every single time, though Stevie’s a little harder to convince.

The days go by, still too fast, and Stevie has to go back eventually. Jamie kisses him goodbye at home, in private, and then drives him to the airport, hugging him tight as he says goodbye.

Shanks doesn’t get it. He jumps onto Stevie’s side of the bed and sniffs at the pillow, diving under the covers to try to find out where his missing human is hiding.

That doesn’t help the ache Jamie feels in his chest, but it does help him feel a little less alone.

He meows a lot at Stevie’s clothes in the closet, leaping up to claw at them until he gets told off and then letting out a mournful whine that makes Jamie feel bad for making him feel bed.

After a few days, he jumps into bed next to Jamie and instead of leaving when he wants to go to bed, he curls up comfortably and closes his eyes.   
Jamie doesn’t quite have the heart to kick him out and make him sleep in his own bed. The company is nice, though the little claws trying to make biscuits on his thighs first thing in the morning aren’t always so nice.

He takes to talking to Shanks, and they watch matches together, Jamie mumbling commentary as Shanks takes a nap and gets lots of scratches behind his ears right where he likes it.

Days go by, and grow into weeks, and months. Jamie makes sure he calls Stevie regularly, three or four times a week. He remembers that feeling of isolation when they hadn’t spoken as much. He remembers feeling like he wasn’t married at all, but pining over a lost sweetheart. So he takes the initiative and sends more random texts—Shanks helps in that regard because he always looks adorable but sometimes he does ridiculous things and Jamie just has to take a picture.

He takes a picture of Shanks sleeping on Stevie’s side of the bed and sends it to him with a message. _got another lad taking your place! love you :*_

Remarkably, it’s that simple. Something in their relationship chances when Jamie makes more of an effort—Stevie starts making more of an effort too, and Jamie receives picture of sunsets over beaches, always captioned with something horribly cheesy that still never fails to make him smile.

_Here, look at the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen._   
_Would be better if you were here with me_   
_I’d trade every sunset for the rest of time if I could be with you again._

For all that Jamie pretends, he’s still a soft lad, and he can’t quite keep from melting. He’d always been a sucker for the flirting, even when they were just starting out. The distance gets more manageable when he knows he’ll hear from Stevie every day—usually a couple times a day, sometimes with just a mundane message about how the cafeteria always serves fish and it’s the worst fish Stevie’s ever tasted but it’s high in iron so he’s got to eat it or how _traffic in LA is the worst I’ve seen anywhere in the world, maybe God is punishing me._

Soon it’s February, and then it’s April. May comes and goes, too, not long after, and Jamie’s ecstatic because Stevie might be in L.A, but now he can go out to see him, can stay the whole summer out there, even, and he can’t wait, even if it’s a different feeling to having Stevie back at home.

So Shanks gets his vaccinations all triple-checked, much against his will, and Jamie gets a cat carrier and phones every single airline he can find to find the most cat-friendly one.

“Is there some way I can just carry him? In my lap? It’s such a long flight, I can’t leave him alone for hours and hours—“ Finally, there’s an airline that agrees, if the carrier is small. He silently apologizes to Shanks, but gets a small one.

“Look, mate, I know you’re going to be angry with me, but we need to do this to get to Stevie, and I can’t leave you here for two months without me, that’s not fair on you. So we’re just gonna get you on the flight, and then when we land in New York, I’ll take you out and let you have a bit of a run around, use the litter box, eat a snack, get some water, and then tuck you back into the carrier for the second leg. Promise the second leg will be shorter than the first one, too, okay?”

Shanks just looks up at him, unimpressed, and Jamie takes it as cooperation.

They manage to get through the trip unscathed (though Jamie crushing up a sedative he’d gotten from the vet into Shanks’ food probably helped more than he wants to admit).

Stevie’s at the airport, and as much as Jamie wants to drop everything and run to his husband, he’s holding a grumpy cat in one hand and rolling his suitcase along with the other, so he can’t quite. Stevie comes over right away, pulling him in tight for a hug and taking the suitcase. “You brought him?” he asks, looking at Shanks.

Jamie holds the carrier a bit closer. “Of course I did, I wasn’t going to hire a sitter for two months! That’s too long, he’d get upset!”

Stevie cracks a smile and sends Jamie a look that says more than a hundred words could.

Jamie gets settled quickly into Stevie’s home—it’s not _theirs_ , and he can’t really think of it as theirs until a few weeks later when he finds the high shelf where Stevie hides his favorite biscuits. Shanks explores the house thoroughly and attempts to scale the curtains a handful of times before he settles into his normal routine of running around the house, hiding in strange places, and climbing up the shelves in the closet to take a nap in the sweaters that Stevie probably doesn’t need anyway because this is Los Angeles, of all places.

Those three months pass in the blink of an eye. Shanks quickly learns that when he hears the groaning and grunting behind closed doors, he won’t be let in, no matter how sadly he meows or how long he scratches at the door.

Yes, they do have a lot of sex. Then again, it’s basically their honeymoon, considering they barely had a few days together between getting married and Stevie starting training with the Galaxy.

The sex is good, too. Lights on, kissing almost frantically, as desperate to give pleasure as much as receive it, incredible, mind-boggling, begging breathlessly for _more—harder—please—_

Shanks is not a fan of the sex, truth be told, but in this one thing, he doesn’t get to have an opinion.

He’s also not happy at being relegated to his own bed instead of his comfy spot next to Jamie. Stevie and Jamie are watching football one day, and Stevie’s got his head in Jamie’s lap, Jamie stroking his hair absentmindedly. Shanks can’t stand for this final indignity and jumps onto Stevie’s face, making it clear he won’t be moving and settling his rear end right on Stevie’s cheek.

Stevie’s not impressed with that, but Jamie thinks it’s adorable. “Oh, sorry lad, you’re right, I haven’t been giving you enough attention,” he says instantly, in the soft low voice he uses to talk to his pet. “Come here, Shanks, I know, you want those nice pets behind your ears, I know, I got them. Mean old Stevie’s gotta find a different spot!”

Stevie rolls his eyes and frowns at the television screen, the experience just a little less idyllic than before. “I’m the one who brought you to him,” he says to Shanks, “you oughta be grateful, furball.”

Shanks doesn’t care about the reprimand, though, purring up a storm as Jamie keeps up the good work.

Eventually the summer, too, passes them by, and as August begins, Jamie starts to prepare to go back home. He dreads it, and each day goes by far too fast without even the courtesy of asking permission first.

“I’m not ready to go yet,” he says softly to Stevie one night, when they’re both naked, his chest pressed against Stevie’s back, an arm thrown over Stevie’s side. It’s very deliberate, holding him like this, just as it’s very deliberate when Stevie rests his own arm on top and intertwines their fingers.

“Then don’t. Stay awhile longer. Stay for the first month, J, stay here. Besides, Shanks just got settled, going back home is just gonna make him freak out again.”

Jamie lets out a slow, measured breath. “Can’t stay,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the thick muscle where Stevie’s neck meets his shoulder, “you know the beginning of the season is an important time for Sky. Wish I could, but I can’t. It’s just a few more months anyway, and then you’ll be home, right? And then you and Galaxy can decide whether you want to renew the contract?”

Stevie huffs out a laugh. “No way in hell am I renewing my contract. It’s just not worth it. I hate the fucking flights we have to take. Imagine a six hour flight to get to a match, J. Not a Champions League match, either, just a fucking league match. Besides, it isn’t home when you’re not here. If I was giving up a life for my husband, I’d want to be playing week in, week out, not flying around America being miserable. I’m just not happy when you’re not around. I’ll stick it out, hang tight until the end of the season, but then I’m heading home and staying there.”

Jamie smiles and presses against Stevie’s cheek until he turns towards him to give him a kiss. “I really like it when you call me that.”

“What?”

“Your husband. We don’t get to say it very much, it still makes me feel like I won a contest or something, getting this lucky.”

Stevie pounces on him at that, and Jamie proceeds to get even luckier.

Shanks’ pawing at the door goes ignored yet again.

The months between saying goodbye and saying hello again drag predictably. Jamie and Shanks go home, and Shanks proceeds to be extremely demanding, which is perhaps exactly what Jamie needs, when he’s missing Stevie so much. Jamie throws himself into doing charity work with his foundation. He exercises a lot more, just to use up his time, and because the endorphins give him a nice little high and send him off to sleep every night at a decent hour.

He and Stevie talk every night, almost without fail, unless Stevie’s got a match. Sometimes Jamie falls asleep on the line, exhausted from the day and trying to keep up with a eight hour time difference.

He ends up fairly exhausted by the time October ends, and November goes by in a haze of sleeping and working and occasionally spin class at the studio with Gary. So the last few weeks before Stevie comes home go by fast, thankfully, and knowing that he doesn’t have to go back makes it even better.

When he sees him at the airport, something just shifts inside him, like everything is finally right again, and he yanks him into a bone-crushing hug.

They get home and Stevie just drops into bed immediately. Jamie pulls him close and holds him tight. “That was the worst year of my life,” he mutters, “don’t you _ever_ do that to me again. Next time, take me with you. Please.”

Stevie nods. “Promise. Next time, we decide together and we go together. Not worth doing it otherwise. And long-distance sucked, I kept thinking you’d come to your senses and shack up with some hot young lad and leave me.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, don’t you worry, Steven.”

They lounge around the house, and something shifts in their relationship. Jamie had always stayed out of conversations about Stevie’s career in the past. He’d always wanted Stevie to decide for himself, and he'd been so afraid of being selfish or weighing him down that he hadn't even wanted to take the risk.

But now they sit down over dinner and they talk about the offers Stevie’s getting—managerial positions in lower league sides, contracts to play for another year or two, a few player-manager contracts.

“My contract’s through at the end of the year,” Jamie says quietly, “if you can wait that long, I can come too, wherever you go. Or—or you could go wherever now, and I could come join you in the summer.”

That Jamie is offering at all says a lot about the state of their relationship, about just how much Jamie loves him, to let him go again.

They weigh up all the options, even get their agent to look through Jamie’s contract, see if there’s any way for him to get out early if Stevie does end up deciding to go to Turkey, or Italy. The pace in Italy would suit Stevie, they both know that, and it would be less draining that the States had been, and the game wasn’t quite as physical as the Prem.

They discuss it a few times a week, tossing options out when they decide against them.

Stevie retires about a month later. All the player contracts and player-manager contracts get tossed out, and the pile of managerial and coaching contracts doubles in height almost overnight. Lower league sides in England, MLS clubs that are just getting off the ground, courtesy of the latest expansion, clubs in China with seven figure weekly salaries. They toss everything that isn’t in Europe or Turkey—everything else is too far from home.

Jamie comes home from Sky one day, and Stevie’s got a peculiar look on his face, like he wants to smile but is trying not to. “Sit down, J,” he says with a smile, “I made steak for tonight.”

That’s… not quite their normal. Usually, if they cook, they cook together, and that’s rare enough that Jamie’s more used to being greeted with the sight of takeout boxes than freshly grilled steak.

He pales all of a sudden. “Oh my god, is it our anniversary? Did I forget? Baby, I’m so, _so_ sorry—I’ll make it up to you, I swear—“

Stevie just laughs a little, lets out that smile that’s been hiding in the corners of his mouth. “It’s not our anniversary,” he says softly, “I just had a little extra time, thought I’d spoil you after a long day at the studio.”

Jamie relaxes and smiles back at him, taking a few long strides and wrapping his arms around him. “You are the best,” he mumbles, breathing in Stevie’s scent—that cologne that he’d missed when Stevie was away.

Stevie holds him for a little while longer, and eventually they settle down for dinner.

They have dessert too, a pint of ice cream that they pass back and forth while they sit on the sofa, each taking a spoonful.

“Liverpool called today,” Stevie says finally, eyes bright and happy, “they need a new U-18s manager. I told them I’d have to talk it over with my family.”

Jamie pounces on him—Shanks would be proud—and kisses him fiercely. “ _Liverpool_ ,” he whispers, “our club. You can stay here and work, we won’t have to move—wait, is this what you want? Are you sure? I don’t want you making any sacrifices for me, Steven, if it’s not the right thing for you—“

Stevie holds him close. “It’s perfect for me. I’ll get to learn how to be a good manager, I love working with kids, they’re young and eager and they just want to learn, and I just want to learn, too. I think it’ll be good for me. It’s not a sacrifice. And even if it was, I’d want to do it anyway. You sacrificed for me, letting me go to LA. You did that and you were miserable and I was miserable, too. We make decisions together from now on, okay? As a family.”

Jamie nods, looking completely smitten. “You are gonna look so hot in the coaching kit,” he teases, “can you bring it home sometime?”

Stevie flushes. “Leave it to you to make my new job about sex, James.” His voice drops lower and he delicately presses his mouth to the underside of Jamie’s jaw, shifting lower and lower. “Guess I might need to show you who’s boss—“

They would have had sex on the sofa if Shanks hadn’t decided to investigate the state of affairs in his kingdom and sat there for a full five minutes, grooming himself while watching them unblinkingly.

A few weeks later, Stevie starts the new job at Liverpool, coaching the kids while Jamie renews his contract with Sky. They both have to travel sometimes, for a night or two away for away matches for Stevie and to go to the studio for Jamie. Stevie and Shanks watch him on telly on days Stevie’s free, and Stevie sends him a picture of Shanks pressing his paw against the telly when Jamie’s on.

_Your second favorite lad misses you. Almost as much as your favorite lad does. Love you._

Jamie responds during the next commercial break. _Relax, soft lad, I’m going to be home in like two hours. Three if we miss the first train because Gary wants to stop at a drive thru._

_Tell Shanks I love him too. And you too, I guess. :P_

Stevie smiles. It was so good to be home.


	2. Chapter 2

Stevie’s an excellent manager. The kids stop looking at him starry eyed after a few days and start _listening_ to him. They rib him sometimes, little things about how he mis-aimed a pass one time—“you must be so embarrassed, boss!” The staff loves him too, and only partly because he bosses five a side staff games in the morning before the kids get there.

He’s a good coach, and the kids get fantastic results with his help. Other clubs start to notice, and job offers come in to manage at senior level, or coach under renowned managers. Steven says no to all of them, waits until the season ends and he loses some of his best to the senior squad.

“You go on and make me proud, you lot,” he says to them, squeezing them each into a hug and ruffling their hair.

The first month of the summer is quiet. They go abroad for a little bit, spend some time in Dubai, laying on beach towels under the hot sun and tanning.

“Rangers have offered me the job,” Stevie says one night, while they’re eating dinner at home, “what do you think?”

Jamie smiles, “I think you’ll be a brilliant manager, love. And it’ll be so much easier than you being in LA—once we’ve been through that, we can get through anything. But that doesn’t matter. If you go, I’ll go with you. I can commute when Sky need me. I don’t want to sleep alone anymore—I stop taking care of myself when you’re not around. And you’ll need someone to bounce ideas off of, even if that’s at home over dinner instead of on the training pitch.”

“That’s not all I’ll need,” Stevie says quietly, “a house isn’t a home if you’re not in it, J. Not for me.”

Jamie reaches across and takes his hand. “Then we’ll make a home in Glasgow, then. Scotland is nice, the people remind me of Scousers, a bit. We’ll get on well there.”

“I’ll get on well anywhere if you’re there with me.”

Jamie grins as he leans in for a kiss. “Soft lad,” he mutters.


End file.
